Omega Luna Left, Alpha Went Crazy

My fiancé is Marcus, Alpha of the Stormfang Pack.

Before our mating ceremony, his mother cornered me in the pack house kitchen.

"As a common Omega, you clearly don't understand proper pack etiquette." Her manicured nails tapped against the marble countertop. "You'll attend a specialized training academy. Learn how to be a proper Alpha's mate."

The way she said "proper" made my skin crawl.

But this place wasn't an etiquette academy at all. It was pure hell on earth.

Every morning before dawn, shrill whistles would pierce the darkness like ice picks to the skull. Then came the brutal physical training that pushed us beyond our limits. Show weakness, and the silver-tipped whips would sing through the air without mercy.

The "submission conditioning" classes were even worse.

They'd strap us to metal chairs and force twisted ideologies into our heads. "Females must be obedient." "Alphas can have multiple partners, and as their mate you should support this." "Your pain doesn't matter—only your Alpha's happiness."

The words felt like poison seeping into my brain.

But the punishment for defiance was the most terrifying part. The trainers would inject silver-laced serums directly into our bloodstreams. The agony would tear through every nerve ending, making you wish for death.

I barely survived four months of this torture.

My hands still shake when I think about it. My wolf had retreated so deep inside me that I couldn't feel her anymore.

On the day I was finally released, I heard Marcus talking to his Beta outside the academy gates. I'd been walking toward him, a smile ready on my lips despite everything, when his words stopped me cold.

"Sending Sylvia to the academy was just to keep her from causing trouble at Victoria's mating ceremony." His voice was casual, almost bored. "She's tough for an Omega—these four months of suffering in exchange for becoming Stormfang Pack's future Luna seems like a fair trade."

My legs nearly gave out.

"Alpha," his Beta replied, and I could hear the confusion in his voice. "If you don't want to mate with Sylvia, why not just tell her directly? Why put her through all that torment? That academy is a complete scam. It's designed purely for torture—constant whippings, electric shocks. An Omega going in there would be lucky to come out alive!"

" You're being too dramatic." Marcus's laugh was cold. " Many Alphas send their Lunas there to learn etiquette. How could there possibly be such things as you mentioned?"

"Victoria's ceremony is coming up, and I was afraid Sylvia might try to sabotage it. Besides, this is for her own good—if she wants to become a Luna, she needs to face some trials. "

The moment his cruel words hit my ears, tears blurred my vision.

So I was nothing more than a pawn. A convenient obstacle to be removed while he celebrated with his precious Victoria.

I pressed my hand hard against my mouth to keep from making a sound. My entire body trembled as the truth crashed over me like a tidal wave.

"Sylvia!"

I jerked my head up. Marcus was walking toward me, his expression shifting to calculated concern. Those green eyes that used to make my heart race now felt like shards of glass.

"You look terrible," he said, reaching out to touch my face. "Is it because I'm late?"

I flinched away from his touch.

His jaw tightened. "Victoria was feeling sick today, so I got held up."

Of course. Always Victoria.

Seeing my pale complexion, Marcus assumed I was upset about his lateness. His expression quickly darkened, and he launched into a lecture that felt like another whip across my back.

"I sent you here to make you better, so we could become proper mates. I'm only two hours late and you're already this dissatisfied?" His voice rose with each word. "How can you possibly handle the responsibilities of being Stormfang Pack's Luna? Clearly you haven't learned proper etiquette yet. Maybe you should stay here and train a bit longer!"

Terror consumed me.

My legs started shaking uncontrollably. Just hearing him threaten to leave me here brought back every moment of agony—the silver whips, the electric shocks, the cold metal chairs. I dropped to my knees at his feet like a broken doll.

"It's my fault, it's my fault!" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I'm not dissatisfied at all. Marcus, please forgive me. Don't send me back here. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be so good."

Marcus looked stunned by my reaction. His eyes widened as he took in my trembling form, the way I cowered at his feet like a beaten animal.

"Sylvia..." He reached down to help me up, his touch gentler now. "Go pack your things."

I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting blood, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. I couldn't cry. Not now. Crying meant losing. Crying meant giving him exactly what he wanted.

Taking a shaky breath, I forced myself to appear calm as I turned away. I walked back to the cold, lifeless room they'd assigned me and silently gathered my pathetically few belongings.

There wasn't much to pack. Everything fit into one small bag—a few clothes, a worn photo of us from happier times, and a silver bracelet he'd given me for my birthday.

But when I carried it out to the main hall, the space was empty.

Marcus had vanished.

Only my phone remained on the table, along with two voice messages he'd sent. I played them with trembling fingers.

"Victoria's dog got hurt. Wait here for me, and I'll come back to get you. We'll go to our... new home together."

His voice sounded frantic. More frantic than he'd ever sounded about me.

My fingertips went ice cold as I gripped the phone. I opened social media and saw Victoria's latest post:

"Thank you Alpha for helping me pick out Mia's outfit for the mating ceremony! Your taste is amazing!"

Below was a photo: Victoria beaming, arm-in-arm with my fiancé, with her pet dog Mia sitting in front of them wearing a tiny blue dress.

So he'd abandoned me to help her pick out clothes for her dog. He couldn't even wait a few extra minutes for me.

An invisible fist squeezed my heart. The pain made it hard to breathe.

Dragging my body—exhausted from months of drugs and electric shocks—I didn't bother looking for him. Instead, I took a cab to the apartment where we'd once spent countless nights together.

Where he'd whispered promises in my ear. Where he'd traced my scars with gentle fingers and sworn he'd never let anyone hurt me again.

But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

Everything was gone. All my belongings, his belongings, everything we'd shared—it had all disappeared like it never existed.

Only a single note lay on the cold floor, written in Marcus's familiar handwriting:

"I moved to our new place already. I threw away all the useless stuff. The address is 92 Central Park Road."

Our new place?

I laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. Just like that, without asking my permission, he'd thrown away everything I owned. Six years of memories, reduced to "useless stuff."

What did the six years I'd given him mean, then?

Nothing at all.